Galadred watched the procession of mercenaries swamp the Estalian recruiter with a touch of disdain. He was as excited as any of them, surely, for the chance of some real work, some adventure perhaps, but they had tipped their hand in the negotiations by rushing to the man, some of them even attempting to show off, to sell themselves, as it were. Except for Volker, who had apparently met the recruiter before. Galadred had not. He made it a point to wait quietly, to conserve his air of stoic mystery until he was sure that no others would step up. The dwarf that had given him the glare earlier had neglected to make his mark on the parchment, and had also stated that he would charge double for his services if Galadred came along. That was all the spurring the elf needed. 

 Wordlessly, The Lion strode to the table, nodded to the man. "I am Galadred. I was a White Lion of Chrace." he paused for a moment, to see if the mention of his old order rang any bells. Regardless, he would sign his name in his flowing Tar-Eltharin hand, as he always did.